Interrupted
by gallifreyanin221b
Summary: Sherlock interrupts another date, but the night leads to something more. John's POV. Short one shot with a soft and fluffy ending.


Ellie and I were sitting across each other.

It was about seven o'clock and we've been there for about five minutes. She was a nice girl I met at the store. It was actually an awkward first meeting. Her being so gorgeous and everything.

I accidentally ran my trolley into hers. We laughed it off, but I had to ask her on a date. It's not often I see a girl like her.

And there we were sitting across each other in a small pub. She suggested it.

"So, what do you do John?" Her giggle was high.

"I dabble. I'm a doctor and...well," I didn't know what to call my "job" with Sherlock, I don't have a label or anything, "Actually, I guess I don't dabble." It was all I could think of saying... I tried to carry on the conversation, "What about you?"

She gave another giggle, squinting her green eyes slightly, "I'm a bartender."

I was slightly surprised, she didn't look like a bartender. It's not like I would know though. I haven't been out in a long time. Been too busy with Sherlock.

"Oh really? That must be interesting." I say.

She laughs louder, "It is, but I bet being doctor is way more interesting."

They bantered back and forth. The conversation was empty, but she was nice. Ellie liked dogs, hates her aunt, lives in a shitty apartment, likes fruit, and on until someone came with Ellie's food.

And of course, it's Sherlock.

He put down the food and looked at me, "John. Let's go home."

"Oh my God." Ellie said, her eyes widening.

"Sherlock, can't you see I'm on a date?" I exasperated.

"And now you're done, COME ON LET'S GO." Sherlock gestured to the door.

"Wait...so are you guys-?" Ellie was confused.

"No, we're just-roommates." I said.

For a second, Sherlock looked as if he'd been slapped, and then he said, "NOW, John."

"Oh go on." Ellie waved her hand with a small smile, she was definitely disappointed.

"I'm really sorry." I said as I stood up.

"Don't be."

"LET'S GO." Sherlock said again.

"I'll call you!" I said as I left.

Sherlock and I stepped out and began heading back to 221B.

"Why do you HAVE to do that?" I rolled my eyes.

"Well, John. I don't HAVE to do it, but I was in the pub for research and saw you being bored."

"I wasn't bored, Sherlock! I was having a lovely time with a lovely girl."

"She's boring." Sherlock dismissed.

"She has a name."

"I don't care. And honestly, you should be thanking me."

"FOR RUINING MY NIGHT?"

"NO, FOR SAVING IT." Sherlock's voice was louder than mine. His face was red when he shouted at me. It was somewhat scary, but knowing Sherlock, he wouldn't have done anything.

We walk home in silence. This was simply amazing. Sherlock loves making comments about people. "Oh he has too many dogs." "Oh, she's a whore." "No she really is, you can tell from the way she walks." "That one might as well be a nun." "He's high." "He's terminally ill." "He's having an affair." But tonight, he was quiet. I couldn't tell if he was thinking or just ignoring me. I couldn't look at him.

To be quite frank, he was right. Ellie was boring, but boring is good. Especially when you spend most of your days with Sherlock Holmes, who is the polar opposite of boring.

After we've gotten home and settle down, Sherlock scribbling some notes next to his microscope, me updating my blog, he finally breaks the silence.

"We're not just roommates, John." Sherlock said very quickly and quietly. He might have had a small hope that I wouldn't hear him. Of course I would have. It's Sherlock Holmes' bloody voice.

"I know, but what are we then?" I click the 'Publish' button and close my computer.

There was another pause.

"There isn't a word for what we are. There never will be. We're just John and Sherlock, Sherlock and John. There needn't be a word for what we are." Sherlock dismissed.

I didn't know how to reply, so I just changed the subject and went over to the table where he was working.

"Figured it out yet?" I referred to a small case we had.

"It was the grandfather." He said abruptly as he unplugged the microscope.

Sherlock looked up from his notebook.

We stared at each other for what seemed to be ages. His eyes darted around my face, his gaze rested on my lips.

He gave me a quick peck on my lips, and then leaned back quickly. Waiting to see my reaction.

And before I realized what I was doing, my arms were around his neck and we were kissing.

It was as if we were spilling out our secrets to each other. All that was there was pure emotion, nothing that could be explained by words. I did have feelings for Sherlock, I didn't know what kind. All I knew is that I did. And I care for him like I've never cared for anyone. And I feel like I'll never care for anyone like I do with him. Perhaps he feels the same way. Perhaps he saw me the way I see him. Maybe even more, but most likely less. We never say these things. We never talk about feelings, and that was probably because we don't need to. We just knew.

When I let go and opened my eyes, I saw Sherlock with a small smile. He quickly turned around and disappeared down the hallway.

Later that night, after I showered and was ready for bed, I looked at Sherlock's door. Anything could be going through his mind. His beautiful mind. But the one thing that was going through my mind was him. I knocked on the door, and walked in. Sherlock was sitting up in his bed, his eyes moving from place to place, probably looking at a diagram in his mind palace.

"John." Sherlock greeted me, back to the normal tone.

I don't answer his greeting, but simply slide into bed next to him. We sit for a while, in our pajamas talking about the case he just solved.

"I guess it's time to sleep." Sherlock said once we have a laugh about how simple the case was.

"First time in a long time to actually sleep." I replied.

"Sleeping is absolutely boring, but the dreams are slightly entertaining." Sherlock turns out the lights and we lie down.

As time passed, we moved slowly towards each other. After about twenty minutes, I was wrapped safely in his arms, with my arms around his waist.

"What do you dream about?" I whispered softly. We were so close, I could feel his heartbeat. It was steady, but strong.

"Not much to be honest. The ones that I feel the most emotion from are ones where you and I are together or you are taken from me." He replied, "What about you?"

"Awful dreams. A lot from Afghanistan,"I stopped for a moment to prepare myself for what I was about to say next, "The worst ones are where you get murdered."

We lied in silence for a little longer. It was nice, listening to his heartbeat. Listening to it made me realize it even more, that he was in my life, and I was happy because of it. It didn't matter if my subconscious created awful scenarios and stories. What mattered was the little moments. The moments of intimacy, where he seemed to put his race car of a mind on rest and just let the situation play out all by himself.

Surprisingly, Sherlock broke the silence, "I love you, John."

I said without hesitance, "I love you, Sherlock."


End file.
